


The Painted Table

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, in case you're not like me and couldn't give a fuck about an aunt fucking her nephew anymore, inadvertent incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: Daenerys summons Jon to the Chamber of the Painted Table the night before his journey beyond the Wall to give him a proper farewell. Slight canon divergence.





	The Painted Table

**Author's Note:**

> Just a smutty little one-shot "what if" prompted by got-addict on tumblr. Enjoy!

Dany stood at the head of the Painted Table, studying the finely carved map of Westeros that stretched out before her, from the southernmost peninsula of Dorne up into the far reaches of the Land of Always Winter. The open windows loomed at her back, the salty sea breeze ruffling her hair around her shoulders.

A heavy knock at the door interrupted her quiet introspection.

“Enter,” she called, pitching her voice so it carried strong and firm through the chamber, even as she self-consciously smoothed down the skirt of her black gown. For this, she must be every inch the Dragon Queen when she greeted her royal Northern guest.

Her bloodrider Aggo appeared first, before he stepped aside to allow the King in the North entrance. Aggo addressed her in Dothraki.

“Blood of my blood, I have brought you the Northerner.”

“Thank you, Aggo,” she replied in his tongue. “You may leave us now.”

Jon Snow watched Aggo leave, his brow notched in confusion. When the door shut, leaving him alone with her, he faced her uncertainly.

“Forgive me. Your Grace. I didn’t know where he was escorting me,” Jon said, his words stiff and formal. “If I had known…” He trailed off, sparing a chagrined glance downward at his state of dress. Or, rather, his state of undress. Usually, he roamed her castle vested head to toe in his full Northern garb: the heavy fur cloak, far too warm for the climate on Dragonstone, his worn leather armor, and the burnished gorget bearing House Stark’s direwolf sigil. Tonight, however, he stood before her dressed simply in trousers, a quilted long-sleeved tunic, and boots, no doubt roused directly from the guest chambers where he was quartered for the duration of his visit. Judging by the unbound and unruly halo of dark curls around his head, he’d been attempting a few hours’ sleep before tomorrow’s endeavor.

“Of course. That was my mistake. Sometimes I forget not everyone here speaks Dothraki.” She hadn’t forgotten. Truthfully, she’d sent Aggo to fetch Jon Snow because she knew he wouldn’t be able to ask questions or, worse, invite Ser Davos along with him on this middle-of-the night summons. What Dany wanted to speak to Jon about, she didn’t want getting back to his or any of her advisers. Not yet. Her Hand would never agree to what she had planned.

Still, she adopted a conciliatory tone as she continued, “It is I who ask for your forgiveness, my lord. No doubt I’ve disrupted your much-needed rest ahead of your journey on the morrow. I’ll try not to keep you long.”

Skepticism hooded his eyes as he studied her. Then, he nodded. “What is it I can do for you, Your Grace?” He stayed standing at the opposite end of the room, the Painted Table a barrier between them, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side. It was a queer tic of his she’d noticed. She wondered if it meant she made him nervous. Afraid, even.

Folding her hands in front of her, Dany took a deep breath to steel herself for this discussion.  _I am the blood of the dragon. I will not be cowed by the wolf._

“My lord, I cannot in good conscience let you go on this mission beyond the Wall—”

Already, Jon was swelling with indignation, his brow slanting with a deep furrow. “With all due respect, I don’t need—”

Exasperated, she waved her hand to stop him. “You don’t need my permission. I know. As you’ve made perfectly clear, you are not one of my subjects. Nor currently my prisoner.” A faint smile quirked the corners of her mouth despite herself. “Which might prove amusing to me for a time, but it’s not exactly the best way to secure allies, is it?”

Incomprehension wrinkled his forehead as he stared at her, and she stifled a sigh. It was a fool’s errand trying to flirt with him, she’d do best to remember that. After all, as Tyrion warned her, the Northerners were a serious and dour bunch, more inclined to brood than to play.

It was just that…in the cave, when it had been only the two of them…she thought–she’d been so  _sure_ there’d been a spark of something between them. The unnecessary way he’d touched her, leading her by the arm to look upon the primitive drawings etched into the walls. The lidded gaze he’d given her. And after that, on the bluffs with Drogon, he’d been almost…playful. She could have  _sworn_ he’d been flirting with her, in his own quiet, circumspect way.

It didn’t matter now. She was a queen, not a silly maiden easily distracted by flights of fancy. There was a war to be won.

“As I was saying. I can’t in good conscience let you go beyond the Wall  _without_ a contingency plan.”

Jon’s mouth pursed in thought, and he folded his arms over his chest as he considered her words. Grudgingly, he asked, “What do you propose, Your Grace?”

Dany flattened her hands against the Painted Table. “My help, should you need it.”

He blinked. “Your help,” he repeated, as if the suggestion were unimaginable. “How, exactly?”

She arched her brow haughtily. “You forget, my lord. I have dragons.”

He shook his head. “Believe me, I’m not like to forget them. But if you’re suggesting you come with us, Your Grace, forgive me, but that’s foolish.”

Annoyance pulled tight the corners of her mouth. “It would be, yes. Almost as foolish as the King in the North himself taking command of the entire mission.” Jon scowled at that. “Of course, I don’t mean to go with you.”

Circling out from behind the Painted Table, Dany walked down the length of it, approaching him with slow, purposeful strides. He watched her approach, not giving her any ground when she stopped beside him. Standing this close, she could feel the heat of his body at her side, could smell the soap he’d used to clean himself with earlier that night. She wondered if he’d taken care to wash his hair as well. It looked slightly damp in the glow of candles illuminating the room.

Shaking loose of the mesmerizing thought, Dany turned to the table and slid her gaze over the map of Westeros. Across it, clay pieces symbolizing the remaining houses marked where their armies were currently garrisoned.

“If you ask me, I think you’re all more likely to catch your death beyond the Wall than you are to catch the dead.” She lifted her eyes to his, withstanding the sullen glower he directed her way. “So, what I propose is this: If something goes wrong, you send for me. And I will bring my dragons.”

His dark eyes fluttered in disbelief, and she watched his mouth shape soundless words before he finally found his tongue. “What?”

“I ask you to send me word if the plan goes awry or–or you find yourselves in trouble.” The unexpected catch in her speech caught her off guard, and him as well, if the surprise flickering in his eyes was any indication. Quickly, she turned her attention to the map. “They send ravens to and from the Wall, do they not? There must be a way to alert me of trouble.”

Jon made a sound in the back of his throat, and his voice was laced with incredulity when he spoke. “I don’t understand.  _Why_?”

“As I’ve told Tyrion: What kind of queen would I be if I’m not willing to risk my life for my people?” she said fiercely, thinking of the Tyrells slaughtered at Highgarden, of the Dornishmen and the ironmen ambushed at sea, all at the hands of Lannister forces.

Jon fell silent at her side, studying her. Unnerved by his quiet regard, Dany gestured to the map. She touched her fingers to the line that separated the Northern kingdom from beyond. “The Wall is here. Eastwatch, here.” She trailed her finger along the Wall, raising her eyes to his in question. “Correct?”

Jon hesitated before reaching across the table. Carefully, he nudged her finger a hair to the right. At the unexpected brush of his skin to hers, she sucked in a quiet breath. His fingers were rough and calloused, like the hands of a man born to wield a sword. She was glad for the long sleeves of her gown to hide the gooseflesh erupting along the length of her arm. “Aye. Here.” To her regret, he released her hand.

“And…” She wet her lips, clearing her muddled thoughts to find the thread of her point. “How far beyond the Wall do you think you’ll have to travel?”

With his mouth dropping into a small, pensive frown, he shook his head. “It’s hard to say. We’ll have to go on foot, and trekking through the snow is slow-going. I imagine it will take hours, even a day to track down a wight.” As he spoke, he drew an idle line across the map up into the heart of the Haunted Forest.

She stared at his finger despairingly. On the Painted Table, the distance was negligible. But when she looked down the map toward Dragonstone, she was disheartened. The Wall was so far away. If he could somehow get a raven to her, how long would it take? Hours? Days? Could she even make it in time to help?

“I’m not sure it would be possible to get word to you, whatever happens,” Jon said soberly, quietly, drawing her attention back to him.

“ _Try_. Do what you must,” she insisted. At his keen look, she hedged, rattled by the intensity of her concern and irked by the helplessness she felt at this mission. “You must understand. I’m…entrusting you with someone very dear to me. I don’t want to lose him again, not when he’s only just returned to me.”

Something darkened Jon’s eyes. Though his expression didn’t visibly change, displeasure hooded his brow. “Ser Jorah Mormont, you mean.”

She clasped her hands together tightly. “Yes. He’s been with me for many years. When he became afflicted with greyscale, I was certain he would die before he found a cure.”

“He was a slaver. My father would have taken his head for that if your knight hadn’t fled to Essos.”

Dany stifled a wince at the accusation, though she knew the truth in his words. “He is guilty of that crime, yes, and I believe he has paid for it.” He’d betrayed her, as well, but she refrained from divulging that sordid tale, knowing it wouldn’t reflect well on Ser Jorah. “He’s saved my life many times over. He has…cared for me when no one else has. I can’t forget that.”

She could tell Jon wasn’t moved by her demonstration of mercy for the exiled knight. He turned his eyes to the map. “I didn’t choose him for this mission,” he said, speaking lowly. “He volunteered his sword to the cause. To prove something to you, I imagine. I don’t know the man, and I have no reason to trust him, but I’ll do my best to see him back to you safely. That’s the promise I make for any man under my command. You have my word.” She swallowed and gave a small nod in thanks. Facing her again, he dipped his chin. “Is that all, Your Grace?”

She blew out a soft breath No, she supposed there was no further need to keep him here. Hiding her disappointment, she folded her hands together. “Yes, that will be all.”

“May I return to my chambers now? Or would you like me to do something else for you? Fetch Ser Jorah, perhaps.”

Dany blinked, taken back by the bite in his words. Even so, his face revealed nothing, only the hard line of his jaw. Was she imagining the venom in his voice? She narrowed her eyes at him. “Pardon me?”

“Perhaps you would like to afford him a similar farewell, since you’re so worried for his safety. I’m sure he won’t mind my dragging him from his bed to entertain a private visit with his queen.”

She glared at him, her lips compressed into a thin, pale line. “You overstep, my lord,” she said through clenched teeth.

“ _Your Grace_ ,” he replied, just as forcefully. “Not ‘my lord.’ I don’t recall bending the knee to you.”

She was practically shaking with fury, though she held herself rigid, hoping her face didn’t betray her. His sudden defiance bewildered her. She’d only meant to wish him well on his quest and to offer him any support and aid she could. To see him, speak with him, in case it were the last time. How had they come to spitting tightly worded formalities and thinly veiled threats at each other?

After a moment, Dany spoke, her words dripping ice and chilled disdain. “I’m surprised, my lord. I’d been under the impression you Northerners were known for your honor and your hospitality, but you’ve been nothing but discourteous since the moment you set foot in my throne room. I must have been sorely mistaken.”

His nostrils flared in outrage, his jaw ticking. “No, you’re right. My father would no doubt be turning in his grave if he knew that I was here, treating with the daughter of the man who murdered his brother and father.”

At that final insult, her temper snapped, her nerves already frayed by news of defeat after defeat on the battlefield.

“Oh, just  _go_!” she yelled. Her hand snatched up a clay piece from the table, and she blindly hurled it over his shoulder. He flinched, though her shot went wide. The piece shattered against the door with a pathetic clatter that did nothing to soothe her rage. “ _Leave_ , then, you cruel, stupid man! Go on your foolish suicide mission, and get yourself killed for all I care!”

A ringing silence punctuated her uncharacteristic outburst, her tantrum having robbed him of speech. Jon could only stare at her in response. At his side, his fist clenched and unclenched.

Instantly ashamed, Dany sucked in a breath, trying to douse the roaring fire of fury and hurt inside her.  _Oh gods, don’t cry now, you stupid woman,_  she berated herself. She hated more than anything that he was here to witness this moment of weakness. Even more so that he’d caused it.

Summoning every scrap of dignity she had left, Dany prepared to dismiss him again, this time with a cooler head and kinder tongue, but his hand on her neck silenced her. He was so close, he only had to slide his boot forward a step and he was crowding her against the table. The blunt tip of his thumb pressed her chin upward so she was forced to meet his molten gaze.

If she was a smart woman, she would have called out for her guards.

But she was not a smart woman, it seemed. When she opened her mouth, it was to welcome the hot slide of his tongue against hers.

When she’d fantasized about this, alone in her bed at night, she’d imagined him to be a gentle lover, whose kisses were sweet and shy, a perfect embodiment of his cold, taciturn demeanor. She’d imagined she would have to coax him through it, strip him of his armor and his defenses as she led him through every touch, every caress.

She’d been utterly wrong, and she was happier for it.

Because Jon kissed her like he’d been plagued with similar fantasies, like he’d already mapped out in his mind every curve of her lips, every crevice of her mouth, and needed to confirm he was right.

Clutching at his shoulders, Dany stroked her tongue against his. His beard was as coarse and scratchy as she’d thought it would be, the soft hairs of his mustache tickling her upper lip. She couldn’t resist combing her fingers through the short bristles of his beard, curling her hand around the hard angle of his jaw. Jon groaned into her mouth and kissed her harder, his hot breath steaming her cheek and nose. Beneath her palms, she felt his jaw and throat flex with every desperate thrust of his tongue between her lips and teeth.

His hand slid around her neck to her nape to thread his fingers through the fine hairs there. Silently, Dany thrilled. In a moment of pure vanity, she’d left most of her hair down in anticipation of meeting with the King in the North. After a long bath where she’d soaked in floral-scented oils and scrubbed clean every inch of her body, she’d had a handmaid pull back only the hair around her face, loosely braiding the silver-gold strands. When she’d examined her reflection in the looking glass, she’d thought she’d looked softer, romantic even, despite the severity of her Targaryen-black gown. She’d briefly wondered what he would think when he saw her in such a simple, shoulder-baring dress, before she’d tucked the thought away.

By the way his fingers brushed obsessively through the length of her hair, she assumed he appreciated the accessibility of her hair. She whimpered around his tongue when his fingers snagged on a couple knots, tugging at her scalp as he delicately untangled them. Jon swallowed her mewling sound of appreciation, sucking at first her tongue then her bottom lip, worrying the plump pink flesh between his teeth. His breaths were harsh and ragged and startlingly loud in the quiet of the room.

Suddenly, he seized her waist in his hands and hoisted her onto the table. With a gasp, Dany gripped the edge of the table in one hand and fisted his tunic in the other to steady herself, though his hands held her firmly in place. She opened her eyes to peer at him, wanting to see his face, his expression, and know what was going through his mind, but he pulled her face back to his in a savage reclaiming of her mouth.

Curling his fingers through her hair, Jon released her lips and tugged her head back, opening the delicate line of her throat to his eager mouth. Dany arched her neck and released a shaky breath to the vaulted ceiling as his wolf teeth scraped over the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. Between her thighs she grew slick with want, her tender woman’s flesh pulsing and quivering with each lash of his tongue.

She moaned and twisted her hands in the thick fabric of his tunic, wanting to hold him close against her breasts. “ _Jon_.”

Sadly, the sound of his name seemed to shatter the moment, shaking him loose of the hunger that had possessed him. He jerked his head back and sucked in a breath, his hand reflexively loosening in her hair. Shame blanched his face a sickly pallor as he gaped at her.

“Daenerys–seven hells, I shouldn’t have—”

Frantically, angrily, Dany grabbed his face and yanked it back to hers. His lips parted in surprise and apology, but she pressed her tongue into his mouth, refusing to let him speak more words of regret.

“You could die beyond the Wall,” she whispered against his lips, kissing the top one, then the bottom one, perfectly plump and shaped for sucking on. “Don’t leave me without a proper farewell.”

His heavily lidded eyes studied her, his pupils fat and dark with lust, leaving only a thin ring of grey. Inhaling deeply, Jon blew the breath out through his nose then surged forward to fit his mouth more firmly to hers. Her heart swelled, beating a twisted song of need against her rib cage and between her legs.

Snaking his hand between their bodies, Jon dipped his fingers under the collar of her gown to fumble with the closures in front. One by one, he slipped free the line of hooks that held the piece together. Dany wore no shift under the dress, her breasts spilling from the tight confines of the corseted bodice when his fingers reached halfway to her navel. She trembled, both from the scrape of his fingertips on her belly and the kiss of sea air on her bare skin.

Jon tore his mouth from hers and dropped his chin to steal a look at her tits, watching her nipples pebble tighter under the caress of his hot breaths. She clutched at his hair, the dark, downy curls any woman would envy, and encouraged his mouth to her bosom.

Hungrily, he sucked one aroused peak between his lips while he cupped the other, nudging his hand beneath the open bodice. Dany gasped and squirmed when his teeth clamped down around her nipple. His fingers plucked at the other tender tip as if he were strumming the strings on a harp. Her cunt was wet and aching, her smallclothes growing damp with her arousal.

Breathing hard, she tugged up the hem of his tunic to slip her hands underneath. His skin was taut under her touch, his abdomen muscles flinching with the slide of her palms upward, but her hands halted when her fingers touched the angry ridge of a scar. Jon went still too, his lips and teeth still pursed around the ravaged tip of her breast.

Dany remembered Ser Davos’ words in the throne room and Jon’s coy dismissal on the cliffs. Heart pounding, she tried to lift his tunic up farther but jumped when he caught her by her wrists, yanking her hands out.

“Don’t,” he said thickly, head lifted to glare at her. She didn’t back down.

“What happened to you—”

He didn’t let her finish the question and instead pushed her down on the table. Stunned, Dany let out a pained yelp when a clay piece jabbed her in her back. She twisted on the table and snaked an arm underneath her to sweep the pieces away.

Determined, Jon threw the skirt of her dress up to her waist, reaching underneath to tug her smallclothes down and over her slippers. She thought to scold him, for his presumption, for his refusal to talk to her, for his rough handling and ill manners, but all objection vanished when he lowered his mouth between her thighs and took her cunt in an obscene, open-mouthed kiss.

“Oh!” Her surprise hissed out through her teeth, and her hands shot out to root her fingers through his hair and urge him closer. His tongue worked in between her lower lips, parting the wet petals of her sex to lick inside her. Her clitoris throbbed in time with the thrusts of his tongue, in and out, and she clenched her channel against the foreign intrusion. It felt wonderful and strange and so, so wicked, the thick wet glide of his tongue inside her, along the dripping seam of her slit.

“Jon. Gods…what are you doing?” she moaned. The plea caught in her throat when next he tongued her clitoris.

The tender nub at the apex of her cunt fluttered with pleasure as he licked at it, slow, generous strokes with the flat of his tongue. Her thighs, wedged over his shoulders, trembled, and her knees bowed inward. With the hard wall of his shoulders, Jon levered her thighs back farther, her knees pressing almost to her breasts, her cunt opening to the stiff thrust of his tongue and the gentle worrying of his lips and teeth. She was so wet, the honeyed juices slipping down between her cheeks, though he did his best to swallow it all as he feasted.

When she came a moment later, she bowed off the table and cried out her agony and pleasure. Nipples still damp from his mouth, her breasts heaved as her heart jumped wildly, pushing a rush of blood to her head.

The waves of her release slowly ebbed, and Jon shrugged her thighs off his shoulders to lean over her. She was helpless to do anything but watch him, catching her breath in quiet admiration at the way his beard glistened with the nectar of her sex. There was a wildness in his dark eyes, and his cheeks had flushed the deep red of a man aroused. He reached a hand down to unlace his breeches, hurriedly pulling the strings open so he could push his trousers and smallclothes down.

Weakly, Dany lifted her head for a look at his cock but only caught a glimpse of the rounded, crimson head, the slit beading eagerly with a pearly drop of cum as he stroked the shaft in his fist. She didn’t see the rest of his cock before he was pressing his head at the seam of her cunt, but she felt every inch of it as he pushed inside her. Her belly tightened, and she gasped, her channel clamping down around him. His cock, thicker than she’d expected, was not unwelcome but a surprise nonetheless. She tried to relax her inner muscles, closing her eyes and breathing as he worked himself inside her with a few thrusts.

When she felt his tip kiss her womb, she let out a deep moan, a desperate sound that grated low in her belly, and hugged him between her thighs. Seated fully inside her, Jon let out a throaty grunt and pitched forward, catching his weight on his hands, fingers splayed across the map.

“Gods.” He drew in a shuddering breath, throat convulsing as he struggled for words. “Your cunt is so sweet and tight.” She let out a half-sob, half-laugh, and grabbed feebly at his shoulders. After a moment, he reached down to lift one of her legs, bringing her knee up and bracing it over his shoulder. Then he leaned into her and began to fuck her, sliding his cock in and out of her slick cunt.

His thrusts grew rabid, hard, deep pumps of his hips against the bare flesh of her arse and thighs, his breaths grinding out in rasping pants. The Painted Table beneath them, a sturdy slab of wood, didn’t give an inch under their frenzied fucking, but pieces across the map wobbled and eventually toppled, rolling to the floor.

Neither she nor Jon paid the disturbance any mind, both furiously grinding and rubbing against each other, working in tandem toward their respective releases. Dany’s loud cries echoed around the room; she prayed her Dothraki guards recognized the familiar sounds of two people rutting in pleasure.

She felt the sudden rush of her peak and tightened around his cock, squeezing her eyes shut against the overwhelming sensations. “Jon,” she gasped one last time before she lost herself under the rolling waves. Pleasure bloomed and unfolded inside her like a flower, from deep in her cunt out to the tips of her breasts. Dany sank farther, only able to make herself breathe, in, out, as she held on to him. Jon thrust into her, faster, faster still, until he stopped with a gasp and buried his cock deep into her cunt, spilling his warm seed at her womb. His sweat-slick forehead pressed into the valley between her breasts, and Dany cradled him to her chest while he shuddered from the fading spasms of his climax.

Eventually, Jon lifted his head, forcing her hands to slip from his hair and fall to the table. His eyes met hers, briefly, before he averted them and straightened. His softening cock was still nestled inside her until he withdrew himself from between her thighs. He pulled his breeches up and tightened the laces, silent all the while. Dazed, Dany pushed herself up onto her hands. She watched him retreat into himself, even as he dutifully pulled her skirts down to preserve her modesty. Dany tucked her breasts back into her dress and pulled the sides closed, clutching her dress to her chest to hold it in place.

Jon let out a harsh breath and dragged his hands through his hair, sending the wild curls into disarray.

“Gods. Forgive me, Dany. I was…a bloody animal.”

She was so stunned by his words, by what had just transpired between them, she didn’t even register his overfamiliarity in his use of her name. Licking her lips, she said carefully, “There is nothing to forgive. If you were an animal just now, then so was I.”

He didn’t look convinced, his gaze sweeping down her body. It lingered on her lap, where her dress was still bunched. “I shouldn’t have…It was careless…spilling inside you. I wasn’t thinking.”

His words landed like a slap to the face. She swallowed against the sudden tightening in her throat. Of course, he couldn’t know…and if she were any other woman, his concerns would be valid.

Still, she couldn’t tell him the truth, wouldn’t confess her most painful secret to him. Instead, she held her head high. “Don’t concern yourself, my lord. There are steps I can take to…deal with any…inconvenience.”

He didn’t meet her eyes and finally gave a curt nod, an unhappy furrow in his brow. She didn’t understand, couldn’t decipher the gloom darkening his face just now. In the ensuing silence, Dany began to refasten the front of her gown. Once she was done, Jon retrieved her smallclothes from the floor and, to her embarrassment, slipped them up and helped her back into them, holding her hands as she lowered her slippered feet to the floor.

With her dress put back to rights, she looked almost as composed as she had prior to being thrown down on a table and thoroughly fucked. There was nothing to do for the knots in her hair nor the purple blossoms beginning to darken her throat.

Jon seemed utterly at a loss for what to say or do next, so Dany pulled herself together like a queen used to making difficult decisions. “My lord, I thank you for meeting with me so late at night and listening to my concerns for tomorrow’s mission.”

His dark eyes squinted at her, and his mouth pulled briefly into a displeased frown. However, he wiped it away as quickly as it appeared. “Aye. Your Grace. I…appreciate your due diligence in making sure our plan is sound. I’ll keep your…request in mind.”

“Please do,” she said softly. “You should get some rest now, my lord. I shall see you off on the morrow.”

With one last lingering look, Jon bowed his head and left. Letting out a tremulous breath, Dany pressed a hand to her stomach, against the tempest churning just below the surface. Then, she lowered herself into the chair at the head of the Painted Table and surveyed the damage their lovemaking had unleashed across Westeros.


End file.
